Two Blocks Away
by Brunetta6
Summary: Plans... don't always work out. Major character deaths and brief intense gore, takes place 3 years after Phantom Planet.


**Been working through some writer's block with my main One Piece fic, so I wrote this Danny Phantom oneshot hoping it'd help. Enjoy my contribution, Phandom~! You ARE a love of mine as well~**

**Enjoy the 'shot.**

* * *

**Two Blocks Away**

It was an afternoon like any other.

A slim black phone hummed on the dresser.

_Bzzzzz. Bzzzz. _

"Oh, for crying out – WAH!"

The young man – and sole occupant of the bedroom – managed to trip over something while turning to answer his phone, and promptly fell flat on his face. "OOF!" came the muffled exclamation.

He picked himself off the floor, rubbing his chin. "Ow…"

Luckily, his klutzy carpet-dive had been cushioned by a mound of clothes that he'd thrown there only a minute ago. Sparing himself a moment for a facepalm, the young man pulled the phone off his equally messy dresser, glanced at the caller ID and muttered in disbelief, but answered anyway. "_Hey_, Jazz!" he greeted with as much enthusiasm as he could force. "How are things out there in California?"

"_Oh, awesome_!" came his big sister's bubbly response. "_But it's to be expected! After all, Stanford has the –!_"

"Best psychology program in the nation, yeah," the dark-haired boy finished for her. He wedged the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, needing both hands to buckle his belt. "Did you call for a reason, sis? I still have a lot of packing to do."

"_Oh, right. Well, I was just calling to wish you luck! You __**are**__ doing it today, right?_"

"Yeah, and I'm –!"

Suddenly, a car horn blared in through the window. The bedroom's inhabitant nearly jumped out of his dress pants. "WAH!"

"_Dannyyyy_!"

He stiffened at the sound of a woman's voice calling up from the sidewalk. "Oh, biscuits. Hold on a sec, Jazz."

Without waiting for an answer, the dark-haired young man tossed his phone back onto the dresser and somersaulted over top of his unmade bed, grabbing a wrinkled sweatshirt and stuffing his head into it. Once he'd pulled it down to hide his real shirt, he popped back up.

He poked his head out the window. "Yeah?!"

Samantha Manson leaned out of her dark purple compact car, craning her head up to see him on the second floor of the Fenton house. "Hey, I know we're leaving soon for your '_big surprise_,' but Mr. Great Mayor of Amity Park down here is hungry!" she called.

Tucker Foley leaned over the arm rest, waving up at him. "Hey, Danny!"

"I'm going to drive him to Nasty Burger for a bite!" Sam went on. "You want anything?"

"Uh, nope! I'm good!" came the hasty reply. "Bye!"

Their favorite half-ghost ducked out of sight with a flutter of messy black hair.

Sam and Tucker stared for a moment longer at the empty window… looked at each other, then shrugged and pulled out.

The little purple car disappeared down the street.

Danny Fenton released the breath he'd been holding. The young man gripped the bottom of the sweatshirt and pulled it carefully up over his head, so he wouldn't mess up the crisp black dress shirt underneath. It snagged halfway up, though, exposing the bottom half of a solid waist and neat six-pack; he frowned and pulled it back down. Although he had been a scrawny fourteen, the half-ghost half-human was a big-handed, well-muscled eighteen. Danny had grown like a weed – five inches in less than four years – and was barely short of six feet. His hair was long enough to pull into a messy black ponytail, which lay over one of his broad shoulders. He constantly had to brush it out of his clear blue eyes. But Sam said she liked it, so he put up with it.

Danny glanced over to his phone on the dresser.

Instead of crossing the room to pick it up, the halfa simply pointed at it. The phone levitated off the dresser and floated obediently into his hand.

Danny put it back between his cheek and his shoulder. "Hey, sorry about that," he apologized, picking up ties from his bed and comparing them in front of the mirror. "Yeah, it's today. And I'm so nervous it's not even funny!"

"_Oh, you'll do great_!" Jazz encouraged him.

"Mmm…" he grunted, squinting in the mirror. There was a long moment of pregnant silence, while Danny tried to decide whether he liked the red or the yellow one better.

"… _Are you trying to pick out a tie_?"

Danny nearly choked. "N-No, I am _not_!" he scoffed, tossing the yellow one away and slipping the red one under his collar.

"_Wear the blue one I bought for you last Christmas! It really brings out your eyes_."

The ghost boy froze.

Then he tossed the red tie on the floor and got on all fours. "I don't care what brings out my eyes or not," he muttered, even as he rooted under his bed for the desired blue item.

Finally, Danny pulled it out from a knot of socks and slipped it on, nearly fumbling his phone for a third time as he struggled to get the stupid piece of silk through the right holes. "It's not like she'll see it for that long anyway. We'll be wearing Arctic gear. Oh, for crying out loud!"

"_Fox chases the rabbit __**around**__ the tree, and __**then**__ down the hole, little bro_."

Danny fixed it sullenly. "Thanks…"

He could practically see her smirk when she replied. "_Don't mention it_."

The young man got to his feet, walking back across the room as Jazz went on: "_So, remind me again why you're going all the way to the North Pole to propose to Sam?_" she asked. "_It's not like you won't see her at college. Right?_"

Danny sighed glumly. "Well, not really," he replied. The ghost boy plunked down next to an overstuffed duffel bag – filled with two sets of heavy-duty winter gear – and started stuffing one foot into a boot. "You've been out there at Stanford for a couple months, so I guess you didn't get the memo. Sam is leaving for New Orleans next week to start studying botany, and I'm staying here to get my basic college credits out of the way at Amity U. "

"_WHAT?_!"

Danny winced, holding the phone a foot away from his ear. "_I mean, props for having a plan, little bro, but you guys won't see each other for four YEARS?_" Jazz yelped. "_You're kidding!_"

"Well, that's why I want to propose now!"

The ghost boy snapped closed the clasps on the boots, grabbed the duffel bags, and got to his feet. "It might be a while before we can actually get married…" he admitted as he walked down the stairs, "but we're adults now! We're gonna have to make some pretty big decisions in college and I don't want to wait to make this one! Our lives were always pretty crazy anyway. Two years won't change anything."

Danny dropped the bags by the door. "Oh, what's the saying? 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder?'"

He jumped backwards, sprawled out on the couch, and made himself comfortable. "Anyway, it won't be _that_ long. In two years, we're both gonna transfer to UDC in Washington DC. The way I see it, we'll finish our degrees there, then get married and move down to Florida. I'll apply for the space program and Sam can get a job at one of the botanical gardens down there. Maybe do some ghost hunting on the side when necessary."

He patted his pocket, making a set of keys jingle against his hip. "And with that new Phantom Jet mom and dad made me, it'll be easy to get back to Amity Park for the holidays!" he smiled.

"_Wow, Danny! You really gave this a lot of thought, huh?_"

"Yeah."

Danny glanced anxiously at the door. "I'm still nervous, though…" he confessed. "What if she doesn't like the ring? What if she says _no_?!"

"_Oh, Danny, spare me the dramatics_," Jazz scoffed through the phone. "_You two have been dating for three years! Ever since the Disasteroid! There's no possible way she would say no. Trust me. You're gonna do great._"

Danny hesitated, but sighed. She was probably right. She usually was. "Thanks, Jazz."

"_Anytime. Hey, I gotta go – some moron just cut me off at the intersection. Talk to you later?_"

"Yeah, sure. See ya."

Danny hung up – although not before cracking a smile at his sister's battle cry of "_Eat my dust, punk_!" – and tucked the phone in his pocket. As he did, his finger brushed the edge of a small, black velvet box. The young man paused for a moment… then pulled it out. He opened the lid.

Inside, the root of all his anxiety gleamed up at him – an engagement ring nestled softly in black silk. Danny had tried his very best to think of Sam when he was shopping for it, and this had been the end result. The pale gold, gothic-style band was slender and plain, but with subtle rises on either side that implied the shape of flower petals, and black diamond chips were placed elegantly around its small, but radiant white diamond. He'd even gone the extra mile and had "SAM" engraved in cursive on the inside of the band… just like that stupid class ring his dad had made him use.

It wasn't ornate, big, or even very sparkly. In fact, it was rather modest as far as engagement rings went. But it was unique and beautiful; just like his girlfriend. And in a few hours, she'd finally be his fiancée.

Danny bit his lip and snapped the box shut. "Hooo…" he sighed, trying to relax. "Maybe I'll just shut my eyes for a while…"

So, he put the ring back in his pocket. He firmly tucked his hands behind his head, and slowly allowed his eyes to drift shut. Getting worked up wouldn't help anything.

He just hoped Sam and Tucker would get back soon…

**…**

"You're not serious."

"Dead serious!"

Tucker put his half-eaten Nasty Burger in his lap and threw his hands out dramatically. "Just picture it!" he grinned. "'President Tucker Foley!' It has a nice ring to it, huh?"

Sam flicked on her blinker and changed lanes. "Tuck, I hate to burst your bubble, but you can't even drive yet," she told her friend since middle school and current mayor of Amity Park. "And I'm pretty sure you have to be thirty-five to run for president."

"Hey, I became a mayor at fourteen!" the bespectacled young man protested. He waved his burger around indignantly. "I've always been chauffeured around everywhere, thank you very much! I haven't had a reason to learn how to drive!"

The goth snorted, turning her black-lined eyes back on the road. "Yeah, yeah."

At eighteen, Sam and Tucker – like Danny – were both completely different and completely the same in the face of time. Sam hadn't grown much vertically, but her hips had filled out nicely in three years, with a trim waist from her mother's side of the family and the round violet eyes of her paternal grandmother. The purple lipstick never left, but instead of the midriff-baring tanktop she'd sported during freshman year, she'd traded for a sexier, more mature look; fishnet stockings and fingerless gloves, a black combat skirt with crisscrossing chains, leather combat boots, and a purple, three-quarter-sleeved shirt that clung to every curve she had. Inky black locks brushed the middle of her back now, part of her hair pulled up by a florescent green skull pin. However, Sam's personality was just as feisty and individualistic as ever.

Tucker, too, hadn't changed much on the inside. He still loved his technology – even the outdated models he kept in glass cases in his bedroom – but since he'd become the mayor of Amity Park, he developed a natural affinity for politics and had run for a couple more offices over the last year. He hadn't won any yet, but he was confident that while Danny and Sam went to college, he was going straight to the top. While he was working, Tucker was dictated to wear a suit and tie, but on free days like today the bespectacled young man wore his signature red beret, long cargo pants, battered sneakers, and a hoodie covered with all kinds of logos. Of course, the Danny Phantom symbol was the biggest one on there. It was only second to the logo of the local community college, the Amity University Phantoms. "Hey, you and Danny will be transferring to Washington DC in two years, right?" he continued, smiling cheekily. "I want to be there, too! But preferably in a big, _white_ house~!"

Sam frowned. "Yeah, I guess."

Tucker blinked at her deadpan reply. "Sheesh, Sam, can you be a little more enthusiastic?" he asked. "I thought you were excited about plant science in New Orleans! All those old buildings and creepy bookstores –?"

Sam sighed. "It's not that," she replied.

She glanced at the one piece of jewelry that didn't match the rest of her wardrobe – a beat up class ring that hadn't left her finger in a long time. Her face fell a bit at the sight of it. "It's just… Danny and I have been together for three years. It's been great, don't get me wrong!"

Her unsure features reflected back at her in the blue stone. "And I know it's stupid…" she confessed, talking more to herself than to Tucker. "But I feel like he's been getting distant from me lately. He's always spacing out or rushing off somewhere else, especially in these past few weeks! I'm leaving for college in six days, and he's barely said so much as a 'good luck' or "I'll call you!'"

Sam trailed off, anxiety etching a deep line between her brows. "Is he getting… _tired_ of me?"

Stunned silence was the only response. After a few seconds of hearing nothing but the road rush beneath her tires… Sam finally ventured a look in Tucker's direction.

He was frozen, mouth open in mid-bite and staring at her as if she had sprouted a second head.

The goth girl bristled. "What?!" she demanded.

"You think he's getting _tired_ of you?!" Tucker gaped, his voice shooting up two whole octaves.

Sam just blinked. Meanwhile, Tucker was in shock. He had known about this proposal practically before Danny had! This was his two best friends in the world getting _married_, for heaven's sake! Tucker had even been the one to suggest the North Pole for it! Danny was too much of an idiot to think of anything romantic, and although he and Sam had had plenty of fakeout makeouts in different places, it was the kiss before the Disasteroid that was their real first one. When Danny had finally gotten the ring and decided the date, he'd marked it on his iPhone, his PDA, his calendar, and his parents' calendar! But apparently he'd spent so much time poking and prodding his buddy along that he'd neglected to do the same to Sam.

Tucker rubbed his face. "Well, that bit me in the butt," he muttered.

"What was that?"

He turned his head and shoulder all the way around to face her. "Sam_, trust me_," he told her, aggressively tearing into his Nasty Burger. "He's _not_ tired of you, okay? And I can prove it as soon as we get back to Danny's! So step on it!"

Sam raised an eyebrow at him. "Okay, okay! Geez."

The goth drummed her black-painted nails on the steering wheel. They were only a couple blocks away from the turn. A few more minutes and –

_**HOOOOOOOONK!**_

Sam and Tucker nearly jumped out of their skins. The dark-skinned boy spilled soda all over himself. "Oh, man!" he exclaimed. He looked in the Nasty Burger bag for something to wipe it up with. "Great, they didn't even give me napkins. Sam, you got any napkins?"

"Not now, Tucker!"

Sam squinted into her side mirror.

A semi truck was riding her tail.

"What is this jerk honking at us for?!" she demanded aloud. She shot a glance at her dash; she was going the proper speed limit!

While Tucker scrounged through the back seat for napkins, Sam rolled down her window and reached out, adjusting her mirror to get a better look at the ten-wheeled behemoth of a vehicle behind her. "I don't even want to imagine the gas mileage on that thing!" she muttered crossly. "Seriously, what is this guys –?!"

But then, she noticed something strange. "Wait a minute…"

She turned the mirror up just a smidge. Above the writing that said "Objects in mirror are closer than they appear," the windshield of the semi became visible. She should have been able to see the driver; the glass wasn't tinted.

But instead, she saw a living, buzzing swarm… of what looked like _green dust_.

Sam squinted. "What is that –?"

"_SAM_!"

The goth whipped her eyes back to the front.

Just in time to see the front of a city crane rig barreling down the wrong side of the road at 80 miles per hour. Green swarms twisted and hummed behind its windshield.

Sam didn't even have time to gasp.

**.oOo.**

_Rrrrrrring~!_

Danny jumped awake.

After a second of racing adrenaline, the young ghostfighter reverted back to a state of half-consciousness, blinking sleepily, yawning, and fumbling into his pocket to check the time. He hadn't meant to fall asleep. Through the haze in his brain, he could hear rain pattering on the sidewalk outside. It hadn't been raining when Sam and Tucker had left, had it?

The young man groaned pressed the button to wake up his phone. "Sheesh, how long have I been –?"

Click.

His eyebrows shot up. He gaped in silence at the blinking digital clock, as if the numbers would change back if he stared at them long enough.

…They didn't.

Suddenly, Danny was very awake.

He sat up, eyes scouring every corner of the living room. When he saw nothing, he got to his feet and repeated the movement.

"Sam?" he called cautiously. "Tucker?"

_Rrrring! Rrrring!_ Ignoring the obnoxious trilling of the house phone, Danny wandered upstairs; maybe they had walked in without seeing him? He peered into his messy room. Nothing. "Sam? Tucker?" he repeated.

His voice echoed through the empty house. "You guys back yet?"

_Rrrring! Rrrring!_

Finally, the phone stopped ringing.

Danny explored the rest of the second floor before going back downstairs, through the kitchen, and down to the basement. Hearing the deafening hiss of blowtorches, the ghost boy didn't bother to be quiet. He just plunked noisily down the steps and poked his shaggy black head in. "MOM! DAD!" he bellowed to be heard over the noise.

His parents turned off their torches and raised their goggles. "Yes, sweetie?" Maddie asked good-naturedly.

"Did either of you guys hear Sam and Tucker come back?"

Jack looked surprised. "They left?" he asked. "I thought you were popping the question today!"

"I _am_!" Danny replied exasperatedly. He leaned against the threshold, crossing his arms over his stomach. "But Sam left to drive Tucker to Nasty Burger three hours ago and they still aren't back. I have a bad feeling about this…"

"No kidding! That boy's arteries are already in the condition of a forty-five-year old cat lady's!"

"_Jack_."

"What?"

Maddie gave her husband a look… then crossed the lab. Even without the step up, she had to reach to pat her little boy's shoulder. He wasn't so little anymore. "Danny, I'm sure they just got sidetracked," she reassured him. "Or maybe Tucker found some kind of computer store. We all know what he's like, right, honey?"

Danny still looked unconvinced. "I'm sure they'll be back any second," his mom soothed, rubbing his shoulder.

Suddenly, Danny heard a knock on the front door.

Relief washed over him like a tidal wave.

Maddie smiled. "See?"

The tall boy gave his mother a quick squeeze around the shoulders. "Thanks, mom!"

Danny smiled as he took the stairs two at a time, hurrying to answer the door. "You guys had me so worried!"

He skidded through the kitchen, half ran through the living room, and stopped in front of the door. He turned the knob. "Seriously, who takes three hours to go get fast food –?"

Then, he opened the door.

Two policemen stood in his doorway. One was taller than Danny and whipcord thin with a big blonde mustache, while the other was squat and solidly built. Rain pinged off their flat hats and police raincoats. It should have been a reassuring sight, but the pale illumination from the Fentonworks porchlight gave their reflective strips a sickly, glowing quality against the early night… and Danny felt his stomach sink a little further. He didn't have a reason to be feeling like this, though. Seriously, what was with him today?

The stubby one saluted him. "Good evening, Mister Fenton."

"Um… hi! Officer Johnson, Officer Brick," Danny greeted the familiar policemen, tripping a bit over his own words.

"Is this a bad time?" the taller one – Johnson – asked.

"Uh, no, I guess not…" Danny replied uncertainly. He glanced back inside. His parents hadn't come up yet. He supposed he should be grateful for that; they always made a huge deal about everything when the police made a house call. "Just, uh, waiting for a couple friends to get back."

He turned back to the boys in blue. "Is something wrong?"

Brick scratched his head sheepishly. "Well, there was a truck collision a couple blocks away from here," he explained.

Danny raised an eyebrow. "It's not a ghost?" he questioned. "So, what would you need me for?"

Johnson took over. "That's the thing," the skinny policeman told him. "See, we've called in the fire department, the EMTs, and most of the downtown police to clean this up, but even with all those people we've made almost zero headway! It's just too twisted together."

The ghost boy winced. "Geez. It sounds bad…"

"It is."

"How many people got hurt?"

Johnson and Brick gave each other a hesitant look.

Finally, they looked back at Danny's concerned expression. "We don't know yet," the shorter one admitted. "We're still collecting pieces."

"Of the trucks?"

"…Um… no."

Danny blanched a little bit. Brick hesitated – then glanced pleadingly up at his partner. "Come on, man, he's only eighteen!" he said, pity in his voice. "He shouldn't have to see that. Let's call somebody else."

"No!"

The officers both looked at Danny, taken aback by his sudden outburst. "I mean, no. I can help!" the young ghostfighter insisted.

His hard blue eyes gleamed in the porch light. "What do you need me to do?"

"Our equipment isn't strong enough to pry the wreckage apart from the outside," Johnson informed him somberly. "Basically, we need some of that Phantom strength to get inside the wreck and push. Once everything's separated we can actually start cleaning up. And with you, it shouldn't take very long."

Danny nodded slowly. "Okay. That sounds like something I can do."

The ghost boy glanced back inside. "Just, uh…"

He turned back to the officers, holding up one finger. "Gimme one second, okay?" he asked. "There's something I have to do real quick. I'll be right out."

Johnson nodded. "Take your time."

Closing the door, Danny made his way back to the kitchen. "'_Take your time_?'" he heard Officer Brick scoff. "It's not like anyone could have survived it… I'm just trying to be realistic," the other policeman replied, his voice barely audible through the walls. Meanwhile, the ghost boy grabbed a pad of post-it notes, a pen, popped off the cap, and started writing.

Danny's letters were slightly lopsided in his hurry. "Sam and Tucker…" he murmured to himself as he wrote. "If you get back and I'm gone… I went… to help… the police. Be back… soon. Danny."

He stripped off the note and straightened.

As he did, a ring of sizzling, blue-white energy materialized around his waist, separating into two and pushing off one other, changing his body as they traveled towards his head and feet.

The pure, familiar hum of his ghost transformation filled his senses. Over the years, Danny Phantom had had his own growth spurts to match Danny Fenton's. His long, dark hair now transformed into soft tongues of cool, silver flame that licked freely along his shoulders, casting a warm, flickering white light over glowing, ectoplasmic green eyes. Although Danny's skintight black-and-silver jumpsuit was much the same, his family of superhero-dorks had gotten away with a few additions. A detachable silver cape with a hood, for instance, and a white utility belt with more compartments for ghost fighting weapons, though that one was nice. There was even a special magnetic clamp for the Fenton thermos.

Danny stuck the note on the counter, then floated over to the basement door. "Hey, guys, I'm going out for a little bit! I'll be back soon!" he yelled down.

"Okay, sweetie!" his mom shouted back. "Be safe!"

"I will!"

Outside, the policemen glanced up as Danny phased through the wall and stopped, floating above their heads. "All right, which way?" he asked, pulling up his hood.

**…**

A few minutes later, the half-ghost was hovering above the site of the wreck. Raindrops pinged off his silver hood. The dark did nothing to hide his horrified expression.

"Oh my _gosh_," Danny gasped.

The scene below him resembled an overturned ant hill of fluorescent raincoats, pulverized metal, and the flashing lights of ambulances and police cars alike. Babbling reached his ears from a crowd of onlookers clustered at the edge of the blockade, which grew louder and more excited when they saw that Amity Park's local superhero had arrived; spotlights had been set up to aid the cleanup crews and there was even a news chopper flying around, aiming its own spotlight into a half-demolished building that the impact had toppled like a house of playing cards.

Danny came in for a landing among the paramedics. His hair fluttered faster, burning at the same rate that his heart did as he stared in awe and terror up at the remains of the semi. "It looks like some kind of abstract sculpture… _coff_!"

He put a hand over his mouth to keep from inhaling the dust. "What caused this, again?" he croaked to a passing paramedic.

The woman opened her mouth sternly – as if she was going to tell him to get back outside the blockade and leave this to the professionals – but then she recognized him, blinked in surprise, and told him. "We're guessing the crane driver was drunk or sleepy and strayed over to the wrong side of the road," she said. "Semi trucks have bad breaks, or he just didn't see it coming. They both were going _way_ too fast and they hit each other head on, then skidded into this apartment complex."

"What?!" Danny gasped. "Is everyone okay?!"

"We're treating the injured now."

As if to prove her point, she snapped her surgical mask over her face and hurried over to disinfect a man's wounded arm. Danny watched her, his eyes traveling over the line of people that had been inside the apartment building. Some of them only had bumps and bruises from falling bricks. But others – he could see – hadn't been so lucky.

Suddenly, there was a gentle tug at his cape.

The ghostfighter looked down.

A little boy stood there. Despite the bandages twined around his head, he was clinging tightly to a Danny Phantom action figure and staring up at him with a smile bigger than his face. "My mom said this was just police work, but I knew you'd come!" he informed the eighteen-year-old.

Smiling, Danny bent down. "'Course I did," the half-ghost replied to his young fan. He glanced at the toy. "Nice action figure."

"It's you!"

"Yeah, I can see that," Danny laughed.

"Mr. Fenton!" an officer's voice interrupted from the direction of the wreck. Both he and the little boy turned to look. "We need you over here!"

"All right!" he called.

Standing up, Danny reached up around his shoulders to unclasp the hidden straps that held on his cape, then pulled it out from under his uniform's silver collar; the raindrops evaporated with a quiet sizzle when they hit his flickering hair. The long garment would only get in the way during the task to come. He offered it to his little fan with a smile. "Wanna hold onto this for me?"

The boy's face lit up. "Sure!" he gasped, practically snatching the cape.

Danny couldn't help a chuckle from escaping him. He liked talking to kids; it made him feel like a comic book superhero.

The half ghost sobered quickly when he floated over to the policemen, though, dark brows lowered grimly over his glowing green eyes. A tiny crevice in the twisted metal beckoned – a fracture point right where the crane and semi had struck each other. It was dark.

And he could hear something… dripping.

His stomach sunk even further, if that was possible. Swallowing, Danny pushed the foreboding feeling aside – chocking it up to the tense atmosphere – and rolled his muscular shoulders. Trying to loosen up. "So… just get in and push it apart, right?" he asked Johnson nervously, not taking his eyes off that dark, dripping crack.

The policeman nodded, looking relieved. "Yes."

Brick jumped in. "But there's probably not going to be any space for you to fully materialize inside! So be careful."

"That's okay."

Danny cracked his knuckles. "It shouldn't be a problem."

The ghost boy paused for a moment… taking deep breaths, listening to his heartbeat slow to a normal pace. Then, when he gauged himself properly in control, he closed his eyes. Grating against concrete and broken glass, his boots slid apart at a measured pace – shifting into a new position. His core relaxed, his eyes closed, his gloved hands braced a shoulder-width apart.

He opened his eyes. They burned a deeper, more intense green.

And with that, Danny's entire body dissolved into silver mist.

The police looked on wide-eyed as the particles seemed to move with a life of their own, floating as one shifting entity towards the tiny black opening. The mist flowed into it – like a liquid – and vanished from view.

Brick looked at Johnson. "That was creepy," he informed his partner.

The taller man shrugged at him.

Meanwhile, Danny flowed through the tiny holes, twists, and turns of the fracture point towards the core of the wreck. Transforming himself into mist wasn't exactly a new power, but from a few embarrassing accidents of getting stuck inside a vent much too small for him, it still required a state of calm to use properly. When he went completely intangible, he could only pass through things, not push them. In this form, Danny could move through the smallest of spaces and still use all of his strength – making it ideal for situations like these. He extended his tendrils along the sharp edges of twisted metal and powdered glass as he pushed himself along. The gaps had narrowed to barely half an inch wide at their largest point; at one point he had to stop for a solid minute, thinking he'd hit a dead end, before finally finding a rip the size of a pinhole. The dripping was getting closer.

Sucking his gut in – metaphorically speaking, of course – Danny forced himself through the hole… and finally found himself at the core.

For the point of maximum impact for two trucks this big, he was expecting it to be a tighter fit. But to Danny's surprise, the space was actually roomy. A full two inches in width and almost a full meter high, the noise from the outside was muffled by walls of crumpled steel on every side. The dripping noises – on the other hand – were _loud_.

And some parts of the walls weren't metal.

That should have been the first sign that something was _very_ wrong.

"OFFICERS!"

Outside, the policemen turned to see a member of the cleanup crew running toward them. "What is it?" Brick asked. "If it's about the trucks, we got it under control."

The man bowed in half, gasping for breath. "Do you… _huff_… remember those extra car parts we found a quarter mile down the road? The ones we thought were just broken off from the trucks? I found something else."

Johnson raised an eyebrow. "What'd you find?"

Hesitantly, the worker showed them.

"…Were either of the truck drivers missing an arm?"

Inside the wreck, Danny braced himself against the walls to start pushing – but he slipped. _Geez, it's __**wet**__… _he muttered telepathically.

Brick stared in horror at the cleanup assistant. "That means there was a third car! But where'd it go?!"

There was a long pause.

Then, all three of them slowly turned.

To look.

At the crevice.

Danny shored up his grip for a second try. _All right,_ he thought to himself. The silvery phantom mist bunched together, like muscles clenching up in preparation. _ Here we GO!_

Sinews shuddered and creaked as he strained to break apart the trucks' deadly kiss and for a long moment, nothing happened.

_**SHREEEEEEEEE! **_

Then, with a shriek of ripping steel, something gave. _ Clunk._

The slick, crumpled metal shuddered apart a few feet. Danny was able to materialize his body if he curled up, breathing hard as a few drops of rain fell in through the crack. "Phew!"

He tossed his flaming bangs out of his eyes. "One more push oughta do it!"

He braced himself again, giving one more _titanic_ shove. The enormous crane slid back on locked tires, creaking and groaning in protest as the yellow raincoats scrambled around. "Get spotlights on that thing!" the silver-haired ghost heard Brick shout. "We're not done here! AND GET THESE PEOPLE OUT OF HERE!"

"Get them _out_ of here?" Danny grunted confusedly.

He felt the start of a spotlight hitting his body, as the opening grated ever wider. "Why would we send them away?" he wondered aloud.

And then… he looked up.

Time stopped.

The cheers had started when the wreck came apart. But – now, as if in slow motion – the excitement froze on their faces. Excitement slowly melted into incomprehension.

Then… sheer horror painted their features.

Gasps and horrified screams echoed through the pouring rain, mixing with the shouts of policemen trying to keep order.

Danny was deaf to it all.

He shouldn't have recognized their faces. Not in that state… two cold, gristly slabs of meat, hair, and broken cartilage, riddled with glass… eyes and brains popped like grapes, oozing down into gaping, toothless mouths.

But he did.

"Tucker…? Sam…?" Danny croaked, his voice breaking.

No answer.

There was a long pause.

Danny's knees gave out.

He collapsed to his back against the soaked concrete, trembling from head to toe, _physically_ unable to tear his eyes away from the sight above him. His mind went numb as the remains of his two best friends in the world slowly began to fall off the front of the semi – landing in pieces, each hitting the concrete below him with a soft, lumpy _splat_. Blood had soaked all the way through his white gloves. He could feel more of seeping through his jumpsuit. Cold stickiness seemed to burrow its way into every inch of skin it touched, saturating every pore and staining him forever.

"Mr. Fenton…?"

As if in a trance, Danny turned – ears ringing – to see a cleanup assistant, wearing a worried expression on his face. Dull green eyes traveled downwards, finally landing on the gleam of a familiar blue stone. Still on a very familiar, black-nailed hand.

_**He slipped the class ring on her finger. "Sam, I could never have done any of this without you," he confessed. "And I don't care what's coming next! I-I just hope that… whatever it is…"**_

_**Danny met her violet eyes, smiling softly. "You're there to share it with me."**_

_**Sam blinked away happy tears. "I **_**will**_** be."**_

Back in the present, Danny lay his spinning head back against the street. The little velvet box in his pocket suddenly felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

He had been two blocks away.

Two. Blocks. Away.

**.**


End file.
